


For the good of the kingdom

by magog_83



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 22:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11114325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magog_83/pseuds/magog_83
Summary: Merlin returns from his sojourn with the druids in the company of a man who is criminally handsome. Arthur reacts in the mature and reasonable fashion you would expect.





	For the good of the kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> Repost of a fic from 2011 (it wasn't available on a03 before)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this glomp fest fic giecast! I have tried to fit as many of your prompts into this as I could, particularly canon setting, pining, oblivious boys in love, fluffy animals, jealous/possessive Arthur, matchmaking knights, laps, necks and domesticity (tragically, no babies though). Thank you to planejane and hermette for helping me with the dates, and to everyone on my flist who helped me when I was flailing a bit. Most of all, thank you to vensre for the lightning fast beta and for the truly ridiculous amount of hand-holding and cheerleading they had to do throughout. I would never have finished without them :)

The wooing of Merlin the most Idiotic Sorcerer to have ever lived commenced at the end of a sunny day in June. As Arthur’s plans went, it was rather sudden and lacked his usual rigorous examination of tactical options, but then again he hadn’t expected Merlin to return from the druids looking quite so happy and fulfilled and in the company of a criminally handsome man on a black horse.

“This is Aelfgar,” Merlin said, once he’d dismounted his horse (badly) and stopped beaming idiotically at Arthur (really, he didn’t need to rub it in). Aelfgar the Criminally Handsome smiled and nodded. It was possible he was taller than Arthur. Possibly. “And this is Branwen.” 

Merlin gestured to the other similarly cloaked figure who had somehow evaded Arthur’s notice entirely, even though she was wearing green and standing not three feet away and carrying a falcon on her shoulder. It was at times like these that Arthur was reminded of the insidious effects of magic. 

“I trust you had a fruitful trip?” Arthur asked, utilising the carefully neutral expression he reserved for foreign envoys, the discussion of crop rotation and whenever Merlin forgot to put on his neckerchief and distracted Arthur with his collarbones. 

“Oh yes, it was great,” said Merlin. Arthur couldn’t help but notice that Merlin was looking Arthur up and down like he was checking for damage, which was just insulting. “But how have things been here? Did you get my letters? I tried to scry to you but I don’t think it worked.”

For a moment, Arthur forgot his carefully neutral expression. “Wait, that was you?” If he sounded indignant he didn’t think anyone could blame him. Having Merlin’s face appear in your bathwater whilst you were sitting in it would be enough to startle anyone. As it was, Arthur had barely managed to scramble out without causing himself a permanent injury and he’d spent the next week and a half convinced that his deeply buried and extremely secret Feelings For Merlin had finally caused him to crack and start hallucinating in broad daylight. The dreams were bad enough, but waiting for Merlin to materialise in his soup was a step too far. “We can talk about that later,” Arthur added firmly when Merlin had the good grace to look apologetic. “And yes, I did get your letters, though your handwriting is shocking.”

Merlin just rolled his eyes. “I try to emulate my King in all things,” he said and then grinned, and for a second Arthur forgot that he had just spent a month in the company of Aelfgar the Criminally Handsome who might be taller, learning how to turn people into newts, and swatted Merlin on the head in what he liked to think was an affectionate but completely platonic way. When Merlin ducked away laughing, a bit too late, Arthur grinned in triumph and felt better than he had all week.

“We have learned much from each other,” said Aelfgar, managing to completely ruin the moment. Behind him, Branwen was smiling indulgently, which didn’t reassure Arthur at all, especially when Merlin suddenly straightened, blushing in the dark blotchy way that meant he was truly embarrassed. “Have we not, Emrys?”

“Yes, it was very...helpful,” said Merlin, looking anywhere but at Arthur before he added hastily, “Shall we go in? I’m sure Gaius is waiting.”

“Your friends are staying then?” Arthur asked, more loudly than was polite as the two druids moved to follow Merlin. 

Merlin paused, looking surprised, “Didn’t I mention it in my last letter?”

It was possible Merlin had, but really, Arthur hadn’t been joking about his handwriting.

“We will only steal a little of Emrys’s time, I promise you,” Aelfgar put in, with a warm look at Merlin.

Arthur snorted, which Merlin took it upon himself to interpret as a yes and promptly led his guests inside before Arthur could remind anyone whose castle it actually was.

He watched them go, feeling extremely put out. If he’d known there was going to be any stealing of any kind, he’d have sent them Morgana instead.

 

The problem with Merlin’s new friends, Arthur discovered some hours later, was that it was really very hard to dislike them. In the time they had been in the castle they had shown themselves to be polite, helpful, and good looking (although that was mainly Aelfgar). They proved able to talk to Merlin at great length about herbs and magic and destiny while Arthur could only nod and do his best to look terribly knowledgeable about that sort of thing (Morgana asked him if he had indigestion). He had a feeling that Merlin knew that he didn’t know what on earth they were talking about, given the way he kept smiling at Arthur and leaning close, quietly saying things like, “That’s the herb I used when you caught your hand in the door, Arthur, do you remember?” and “I use that spell for your laundry, but it doesn’t work on grass stains.” The druids rounded off their afternoon of impressing everyone in sight with a display of magic in the Great Hall and the recounting of ancient legends which were at least ten times more exciting than Arthur’s favourite hunting anecdotes and had caused a worryingly large number of courtiers to wax lyrical on the joys of the ‘simple Druid life.’ 

All in all, he had a perfect right to feel a little grumpy. He hadn’t had ten minutes alone with Merlin since he had returned and everywhere he went Aelfgar seemed to be hovering, making pointed asides about destiny and coins and sacred rituals and other similar nonsense, and giving Merlin significant looks whilst looking wild and dashing and wearing a flattering cloak. Arthur had started to wonder if the whole coin business was some sort of comment on Merlin’s wages, which admittedly Arthur should be putting up now Merlin’s duties officially included defending the realm. That is, if Merlin even wanted to be his court sorcerer anymore. He probably wanted to live with Aelfgar in the woods and commune with the earth like half the members of his court.

It was at that moment that Arthur decided to break out the ale because he was the King and he could do as he liked, and because Merlin had been dragged away by Branwen and Aelfgar to check some ancient spell in Geoffrey’s collection. 

He was well into his fourth tankard and busy making a mental list of things he didn’t like about Aelfgar (it was possible to be too tall, after all) and reasons Merlin wouldn’t last five minutes in the woods (he was rubbish at hunting!) when Gwaine took it upon himself to interrupt his descent into inebriacy, since no-one else had dared. 

“Much as I enjoy helping Merlin haul your drunken arse to bed, you might want to give it a rest if you intend to lead training in the morning.”

Arthur blinked blearily at Gwaine who had sprawled on the bench next to him and ignored all references to his Royal duties for the more pertinent matter at hand. “Merlin’s going to live in the woods.”

“Oh Christ,” said Gwaine, and without further ado reached for the flagon of ale and poured himself a generous measure.

“See, even you think so,” said Arthur, feeling like the most tragic King who ever lived.

Gwaine took a hearty gulp of his ale. “I’m going to take a wild stab in the dark and assume this has something to do with a tall, dark and handsome druid?”

“No,” said Arthur, scowling. Then, “Why? Do you notice anything—”

“Merlin is not going to go and live in the woods,” Gwaine interrupted, looking far too amused.

Arthur put his tankard down with great dignity. “Of course he isn’t, I knew that.”

“Unless...” Gwaine went on, eyeing Arthur with a smirk. “Unless that Aelfgar is very persuasive.”

“What?” Arthur twisted on his chair to scan the hall for Merlin and Aelfgar and nearly sagged with relief when he spied them talking with Gaius and Branwen by the fire, Branwen’s falcon in its usual perch on her shoulder. Merlin caught his eye immediately and then pulled a ridiculous face that was clearly meant to be apologetic as Branwen tugged his sleeve to draw his attention back to a dusty looking scroll.

Arthur turned back to Gwaine, whose smirk seemed to have grown. “See, the way I see it, your royal obliviousness, it’s not about Merlin leaving, it’s about you giving him a reason to stay.” Gwaine waggled his eyebrows, then just sighed when Arthur looked confused. “You have to show him that you, you know, appreciate him.”

“I do appreciate him,” Arthur said crossly.

Gwaine snorted. “Believe me, we know.”

“What’s that supposed to—”

“What I mean is, sire, you’ve got to show him you appreciate him on a more, er, personal level. Woo him, so to speak.”

“For the good of the kingdom?” Arthur asked, just to be clear and because it almost sounded like Gwaine suspected. Fortunately, Arthur knew that to be impossible. When it came to his inner most thoughts and feelings, he was a closed book, highly trained to resist even the most probing of questions. 

“Yeah, sure,” said Gwaine, rolling his eyes.

“I can do that,” said Arthur, because he could. He was a master tactician. “Wait, how do I do that?”

Gwaine looked at him like he was an idiot, which almost certainly counted as treason. “Well for a start you need to put down the ale and get over there, show him you mean business.”

“Right,” said Arthur, getting unsteadily to his feet. “Good plan.”

And that was how King Arthur Pendragon, Master Tactician, came to throw up at the feet of Merlin, no doubt soon-to-be-Druid and Woodland Dweller.

 

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Arthur mumbled for the fifth time as Merlin deposited him onto his bed. Gwaine had already left them to it with a completely uncalled for mutter of, “He’s all yours,” (and he needn’t think Arthur hadn’t heard him because his hearing was as sharp as his tactical planning). 

There was a snort somewhere above him. “I didn’t think you did.”

After much effort, Arthur managed to get his face out of his pillows and tilted enough to squint at Merlin, who was lighting the candle at his bedside. During their eventful journey to Arthur’s chambers, his neckerchief had gone askew, affording Arthur a tantalising glimpse of neck and the shadowy hollows of his collarbone which he would enjoy all the more if the room wasn’t swaying. As it was, he was forced to close his eyes again and just imagine them instead (he’d had a lot of practice). “I’m sorry about your boots,” he added, mostly muttered into the pillow, since he had just thrown up on them and he was nothing if not scrupulously polite.

There followed the sound of Merlin’s footsteps, then a clinking noise and liquid being poured. “It’s all right, Aelfgar magicked them clean while Gwaine was propping you up.” 

Drunk and useless. No wonder Merlin preferred the druids. “I suppose Aelfgar is good at that sort of thing,” Arthur tried for unconcerned but mostly just sounded sad and a little bit pathetic (he blamed the ale).

“Quite good, yes.” Merlin’s voice was close again and a moment later Arthur felt a hesitant touch on his face, just the brush of a thumb along his cheekbone. He blinked his eyes open and Merlin pulled his hand away rather quickly. “Come on, roll over. You can’t drink this while you’re dribbling on the pillow.”

Arthur obediently flopped on his back, eyeing the cup Merlin was holding with suspicion. “What is it?”

“One of Gaius’s remedies. I always keep some just in case you decide to drown yourself in drink – which you haven’t done for ages by the way, not since Morgana’s birthday feast.”

He sounded a bit concerned but Arthur was too busy having horribly embarrassing flashbacks to The Feast. Since that was the day he’d come second at the celebratory tournament (second!), drank far too much wine and tried to grope Merlin on the way to his chambers, Arthur felt it was an evening best glossed over. “I have no memory of that night,” he said firmly, or as firmly as he was able. “Especially after we left the hall.”

“Oh,” said Merlin, frowning. “No, of course not. Me neither.”

Arthur struggled up onto his elbows and grabbed the cup, taking a large gulp before he could register the bitter taste.

“Careful!” said Merlin, trying to steady the cup and mostly just wrapping his hand around Arthur’s. This close, he smelled of wood smoke and faintly of ale, and Arthur was somewhat relieved that the business of draining the cup distracted him from the pressing need to lick Merlin’s neck. 

Finished, he dropped back down, already feel drowsy and pleasantly far away as the remedy mixed with the ale in his belly. He was just drifting off when there was a loud scrape which turned out to be Merlin wedging open the door to the small antechamber where he slept using Arthur’s second best sword. “I’m going to leave this open in case you fall off your bed and break something.”

“I’m not even drunk anymore,” Arthur protested in the general direction of the door, which was actually the window. Bugger. He twisted round. “I said I’m not—”

“I heard you the first time,” Merlin replied, giving the door a final tug and then waving his hand at the fire which promptly banked itself down for the night. He paused to give the room and Arthur an assessing glance, then magicked a pile of blankets out of the wardrobe and onto the floor by Arthur’s bed anyway.

“It’s warmer here than the woods,” Arthur said, because he thought it was an important point to mention, even if he couldn’t remember why. 

“I suppose so,” said Merlin, frowning at the blankets until they obediently unfolded themselves into a long Arthur shape on the flagstones, perfectly positioned should Arthur try to kill himself in the night (which he wouldn’t, of course).

“Just so you know,” Arthur mumbled, and fell asleep.

The next day started abruptly when Arthur was prodded from his bed at an ungodly early hour because Merlin had to meet Aelfgar at second bell to “try some protection spells on the walls,” although Arthur wasn’t entirely sure why Merlin’s completely unauthorised meeting with a man Arthur suspecting of having Nefarious Intentions, required him– the King, in case anyone (named Merlin) had forgotten – to have his breakfast at an hour past dawn.

“You hate going without your breakfast,” Merlin pointed out, in a very reasonable tone, when Arthur said as much, helping himself to a third sausage from the tray (and those were technically Arthur’s sausages anyway).

“I also hate going without sleep,” Arthur said crossly, snagging a piece of toast before Merlin could start on that too, “but that doesn’t seem to have stopped you waking me up in the middle of the night.”

“It’s hardly the middle of the night Arthur, listen to the birds.”

“That’s an owl,” Arthur said and pulled the plate of cheese further away from Merlin because Merlin alwaysstole the cheese.

“Anyway,” Merlin continued, and Arthur noticed his ears were pink, “If I went off without you, you’d be having breakfast on your own and you said yourself you prefer the company.”

It was possible Arthur had once said that, not because it was actually true (obviously) but because you couldn’t just start sharing your breakfast with your manservant and not have people draw scandalous and base conclusions which were only very partially true. There was also a possibility he had missed this over the past few weeks, but really, when he had imagined Merlin’s return it was to their usual leisurely breakfasts and possibly a boiled egg (sadly absent), not being turfed out of bed at arse o’clock because Merlin wanted to take morning walks with a handsome druid who might or might not have designs upon his sorcerer. However Merlin was looking rumpled and flushed and Arthur’s usual immunity was sadly depleted by exhaustion. “I suppose it doesn’t make a great deal of difference now I’m up,” he said at last, only a tiny bit grumpy, and Merlin smiled happily and stole the cheese while Arthur was most certainly not staring at him like a besotted half-wit.

After the unexpected start to his day, training seemed to drag interminably – not least because he was there an hour earlier than anyone else. This gave him plenty of time to do some stretches, examine the shocking state of the armoury and check the main routes to the castle every five minutes for Merlin and Aelfgar in case ‘spelling the walls’ was some sort of euphemism. By the time his knights started trickling in – several of them looking gratifyingly impressed to see their King already at work – Arthur was sleepy, still grumpy, and had developed a crick in his neck from craning it to see over to the east wall. 

It wasn’t until they’d stopped for a short break that Arthur finally caught a glimpse of his errant sorcerer. At least he was fairly sure it was him, since the small figure had waved, and he really did appear to be walking around the walls with Aelfgar and doing a lot of pointing and gesturing (either that or he was having a fit, it was hard to tell), which was something of a relief. Not that Arthur was resting on his laurels with regards to Wooing Merlin, even if he had only a vague recollection of his conversation with Gwaine the night before. If eight years of being the best knight in Camelot had taught him one thing, it was never to underestimate your opponent. Especially when he was tall and good looking. 

Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little concerned when practice ended and Merlin had not appeared as he usually did. The dinner bell was about to ring after all (Merlin’s favourite time of day), and quite frankly Arthur’s castle didn’t have that many walls.

“No Merlin today?” Lancelot asked curiously, noticing Arthur’s gaze. A few of the knights still nearby turned to look in surprise. 

Arthur crossed to the water barrel in the shade of the armoury wall, feeling hot and out of sorts. “He had some important state business,” he said, daring anyone to suggest otherwise

Unfortunately dares had no effect whatsoever on Gwaine. “Giving Aelfgar the grand tour, so I hear,” he put in, accepting a drink from a passing squire and raising his eyebrows suggestively. 

Arthur scowled and stripped off his tunic and shirt, resisting the temptation to just dunk his entire head in the barrel because it had been that sort of morning. Instead he settled for splashing his neck and chest, letting the cold water wash away some of the sweat and grime of training. It wasn’t as though Merlin had to be there anyway. There were plenty of squires to attend him, and Merlin really did have more important things to do. It was just he usually was there. No matter how busy he was in the morning and how urgent his duties, Merlin always found time to bring Arthur a water skin at the end of training and offer to hold his shirt if he wanted to quickly cool off. 

“Still?” Caradoc was saying. “Didn’t Kay say he’d seen them heading for the western wall before breakfast, how much can they have left to do?”

“Well you know how it is when you’re having fun,” Gwaine sighed nostalgically. “And Merlin was very eager to meet him, he was practically running across the courtyard.”

Arthur yanked his shirt back over his head with a little more force that was strictly necessary and snatched up his tunic from the ground. “Merlin takes the defence of the castle very seriously,” he said crossly.

“Either that or he was trying to escape the snoring.”

“Pardon?”

Gwaine grinned and took a leisurely sip of water. Around him, Caradoc and Kay looked like they were trying to hide their amusement. “Come on, your majesty, we’ve been on patrol with you. The first night I thought a wild boar was loose in the camp.” Someone snorted and tried to turn it into a cough. “As I was saying to Aelfgar only last night, Merlin has many crosses to bear.”

“Merlin’s duties are none of Aelfgar’s business,” Arthur snapped.

Gwaine tossed the waterskin back to the waiting squire. “That’s not what Aelfgar thinks. He seemed remarkably interested in Merlin’s duties when I spoke to him, did he not Kay?”

Kay smirked. “Very interested indeed.”

“Particularly about his sleeping arrangements. The man seemed rather shocked to hear he was still sleeping in your antechamber.” Gwaine exchanged a grin with Kay, ignoring Lancelot’s exasperated sigh. “Then again, I think a lot of us are pretty shocked about that.”

It was fortunate, Arthur thought afterwards, that he was saved from answering by the belated and somewhat breathless arrival of Merlin himself who took one look at Arthur in his now slightly sodden shirt, and seemed to slump in disappointment (which just went to prove he still took his duties seriously), otherwise Arthur might have been forced to commit the unprecedented act of thanking Gwaine for giving him his first brilliant idea of the day.

Arthur’s first brilliant idea took a few hours to put into effect. Not because it wasn’t brilliant (it was), but because he had to wait until Merlin stopped offering to magic him up a bath and reluctantly trailed off to fetch his lunch before he could summon the castle steward and give him the appropriate instructions. Then there had been the usual afternoon audiences to get through, followed by a mind numbing half hour spent listening to Sir Ellis’s irrigation plans and a somewhat disturbing conversation with Branwen about scented oils (she’d been taking notes), but eventually he’d managed to make his escape (after being forced to admit he was partial to jasmine). Collecting Merlin took a little while longer, since he’d ‘remembered’ an urgent errand for Gaius around the same time as Sir Ellis remembered his love of drainage and conveniently failed to return. Normally, this would have been at least a hat offence, but today Arthur was determined to take a more diplomatic approach, because he was trying to woo Merlin for the Good of the Kingdom after all, and because Merlin could turn him into a newt. 

There were limits however, even to Arthur’s famed diplomatic skills.

“Are those my grapes?” 

Merlin looked up from where he was comfortably ensconced in Arthur’s favourite chair, reading his spell book (or his Big Book of Treason as Arthur still liked to call it) and making free with Arthur’s food. “Oh there you are,” said Merlin immediately, marking his place with one of Arthur’s spare shirt laces and closing his book. “I was just going to look for you.”

“Where? In the fruitbowl?” 

Merlin rolled his eyes and got to his feet, licking grape juice from his fingers in a way that was entirely distracting and making Arthur regret his Brilliant Idea for all sorts of highly inappropriate reasons, not least because Merlin would be licking his fingers somewhere else. “I could grow you some new ones with magic if you like,” Merlin said, “Branwen’s sister showed me.”

Fortunately Merlin could be relied upon to remind him of its continued Brilliance. “That won’t be necessary,” Arthur said firmly. “I’ve got something more important to show you.”

“What about strawberries?” Merlin asked, popping the last remaining grape into his mouth.

“No, I—”

“Blackberries?”

“Merlin!”

“All right, it was only a suggestion. I’d have to get some more grapes to start the spell anyway, these have run out.”

“I can’t imagine how,” said Arthur. 

Merlin just stuck out his tongue and then looked at Arthur expectantly. “What’s this thing you want to show me then? If it’s even vaguely hat shaped I can’t promise you won’t be swimming in the pond by dinner.”

Arthur glared, then remembered he was supposed to be wooing Merlin and did his best to change it into something that resembled the benign look of a great ruler towards his valued sorcerer.

“Are you all right?” Merlin asked, peering at him in apparent concern. “You look like you’re going to cry.”

Arthur gave up the attempt and batted away Merlin’s attempt to check him for sudden injury. “For goodness sake, I’m fine. Will you just hurry up, I have something I want to give you.” Arthur cleared his throat, feeling his traitorous face heat. “A present. Of sorts.”

Merlin blinked at him, “Oh,” he said, looking rather taken aback. Then he smiled, flustered, and reached for the jacket he had discarded on the table, managing to put it on on the second attempt. “Okay then. I’m ready.” 

Arthur reached out to tug his collar straight, allowing his knuckles to graze smooth warm skin for the briefest of moments. “You could at least try to look like a great and powerful sorcerer,” he said, resisting the urge to pull the neckerchief off completely and toss it in the fire.

“Cloaks make me itch,” said Merlin, wrinkling his nose.

“Idiot,” said Arthur, because newt or not, it was still true.

Merlin sighed the sigh of the long suffering (which was just ridiculous) and trailed after Arthur towards the door. “This had better be a good present.”

 

Some ten minutes later, Arthur made it up the final few stairs only marginally out of breath (he didn’t remember the staircase being half so long) and pushed open the heavy oaken door with a flourish. “Here we are.” 

Merlin stepped in eagerly behind him, stopped and looked all around the room before his gaze came back to Arthur. He seemed confused. “What am I looking for?”

Sometimes Arthur despaired for the future of magic. “You’re not looking for anything. This is your room.” In Arthur’s albeit brief imaginings, this was the moment Merlin wept with gratitude and declared his love for all things spacious and stone built, as opposed to, say, substandard tents in the woods. The weeping was, admittedly, a bit unlikely, but Arthur would settle for a thank you (and Merlin not leaving. Preferably ever).

Sadly Merlin had not been privy to Arthur’s imaginings. “I already have a room,” he pointed out, as though Arthur had somehow forgotten.

“I know that, but this is your new room.” Arthur swept a lingering bit of dust off the window ledge. When Merlin just stared at him, he tried again. “I’ve informed the steward and the maids will move your things for you as soon as you wish.” He thought that sounded suitably formal.

“Is this about the grapes?” said Merlin. 

Arthur scowled. “No, it is not about the grapes.”

“Then why would—” Merlin stopped speaking suddenly and his expression changed, a dull flush creeping up his neck. “Did you speak to Aelfgar? Did he say something about...” he stopped, swallowing, “about anything?”

Arthur knew he was right about Aelfgar and his Nefarious Intentions. “Of course not,” he answered firmly, because this was his idea, whatever Aelfgar might have been saying to his knights. Then he added, for good measure, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while.” 

“You have?” said Merlin, sounding odd.

“Yes,” It had been several hours, after all. “You are the Court Sorcerer and it seemed only appropriate for you to have rooms befitting your station. Here. In the castle I mean. Where it’s warm.” 

“At the top of a tower,” Merlin said, as if to check.

Arthur tried not to feel too put out by the distinct lack of weeping or gratitude of any kind. “You can choose another room if you wish,” he said in a tone that wasn’t at all sulky. “I just thought these were best. More private for your...” he waved a hand vaguely, “sorcery. And the view is nicer.”

Merlin’s eyebrows shot up.

“That’s what I heard anyway,” Arthur said. “From one the maids. I didn’t say it. I’ve never been here before in my life.” This wasn’t going well at all. “Look, do you want the room or not?”

Merlin looked all around the room again, and then at Arthur, frowning slightly, before he seemed to come to a decision, saying, “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just stay where I am.”

“What?” said Arthur, who hadn’t seriously expected Merlin to turn down the offer of his own spacious chamber.

Merlin’s flush returned, even stronger than before. “I’ll just stay in my room. But thanks anyway. For the offer.”

“Merlin, I have cupboards bigger than your room.”

Merlin raised his chin. “There’s nothing wrong with my room. It’s very cosy.”

Arthur snorted. 

“It is! And anyway my life with the Druids has taught me the importance of small and, uh, simple spaces. We have no need for worldly possessions and... towers and things.”

“What about your seven pillows?”

“Obviously living in the castle has forced me to make some sacrifices,” Merlin said, with the kind of noble expression he usually reserved for accompanying Arthur to the hunt. “And anyway,” he went on, before Arthur could respond. “How would I look after you if I was up here?

“You’re not supposed to be looking after me at all,” Arthur pointed out, because it was something he had been pretending not to notice for at least four months now. “You were supposed to find me a new manservant weeks ago.”

“You can’t rush these things, Arthur. It’s about finding the right person.”

“Edward seemed to manage well enough when you were away,” Arthur said. If anything, Edward had been a little too keen, especially when it came to helping him dress.

Merlin scowled. “Edward is completely unsuitable for the post and besides, you need someone with magic, for when things attack you in the night.”

“Nothing has ever attacked me in the night.” Most things didn’t even wait until lunch.

“Exactly,” Merlin said, darkly.

Arthur opened his mouth and then closed it again. He felt they’d strayed rather significantly from the point. In fact he was hard pressed to remember what the point was.

“That settles it then,” Merlin said, looking relieved. “I’ll just stay where I am for now and carry on with my duties.”

“I suppose,” Arthur said, feeling a little bewildered and trying his very best to ignore the ‘for now’ part.

 

The way Arthur saw it, everyone wanted something, even if they acted like they didn’t. Gwen wanted Lancelot, Morgana wanted his throne, Geoffrey wanted a bigger library, and Arthur wanted... Well, there was no point dwelling on what Arthur wanted. Suffice it to say, it was tall and a little gangly and sometimes forgot to comb its hair. 

And now it seemed Merlin wanted to be a druid. Albeit one with an obscene amount of pillows and a rug that Arthur was fairly certain used to be in his audience chamber (Merlin denied this). Clearly Arthur had been coming at this whole wooing thing from the wrong angle.

“What sort of things do druids like?” he asked Morgana, in what he hoped was a very casual and off-hand manner, the following day. He’d just seen Merlin off for another morning of spells or research or whatever it was druids did when they were trying to steal away your Court Sorcerer to a life in the woods.

Morgana turned a page of her book, not even deigning to look up. “The usual things. Restoring the balance of nature, peace between all nations, full and perpetual rights to the Royal forests. Oh and Merlin of course. What with him being their prophesied leader, but I’m guessing you already knew that or you wouldn’t be here.” She made a tiny note in the margins of the page, then put down her quill, the better to smirk in the face of Arthur’s (very impressive) glare. “What can I do for you, Arthur?”

Arthur struggled briefly with his lifelong and well-founded fear of telling Morgana anything that could be used against him in a coup. However the situation was urgent. Aelfgar had been looking particularly rakish that morning (he’d caught four maidservants staring) and he’d made several references to ‘intertwined paths’ that Arthur thought weren’t the least bit subtle. Even Merlin had noticed, if his red face was anything to go by. Morgana was one of the few people in the castle who had actually lived with the druids, so in this case Arthur was just going to have to swallow his pride for the Good of the Kingdom.

“I want to do something for Merlin. Something, er, druidic.”

“Might I suggest a full body tattoo?”

“Not—” Arthur stopped and scowled at Morgana’s all too evident enjoyment of his plight. “Not me. I mean for Merlin. Something to show him that I support him in his new Druid life.”

Morgana raised one perfect eyebrow. “Merlin has a Druid life?”

“He does now,” Arthur said, dropping down into the seat opposite Morgana. “I just need to make sure he has it here.” Morgana gave him a Look, so he added, “For the people,” (in case there was any doubt).

Morgana chose not to comment on that. “Just give him another pillow.”

“I can’t,” said Arthur glumly. “He’s given up worldly possessions. I tried to give him his own chambers and he didn’t want those either.”

“What a surprise,” muttered Morgana.

“Well excuse me for not knowing the bloody ridiculous strictures of Druid culture.” Arthur snapped. He sat back in his chair, kicking his toe against the table leg a few times and feeling extremely hard done by. “If I’d known he was going to be so weird about it I’d have just pitched him a tent in the courtyard.”

Morgana was looking at him like she might be tempted to smack him with her book, which was just uncalled for. 

“So now I need to think of something else,” Arthur added grudgingly. “And you know about that sort of thing.”

“I’m flattered.”

“There’s no need to be smug about it.”

“But Arthur, that’s half the fun.” Morgana grinned, slowly and Arthur had to remind himself rather forcibly that this was for Merlin. When it became apparent Arthur was not going to retaliate, she pouted in disappointment. “Oh very well. Go and hit people with swords, I’ll think of something.”

Arthur stared. “What?”

“I said I’ll think of something.”

“You’re actually going to help me?” The most Arthur had been hoping for was a hint, and perhaps mockery for the next fortnight.

“Honestly Arthur, you make it sound like I want you to make a fool of yourself.”

There was really no way to answer that one and stay in Morgana’s good graces so Arthur decided to make a strategic withdrawal, because he was, after all, a Master Tactician.

This was not, however, the ‘something’ Arthur had been expecting.

“What the hell is that?” 

Morgana put the basket onto the table. “It’s a cat, Arthur, I thought even you would be able to—”

“I can see it’s a cat,” Arthur interrupted, lowering his voice since Merlin had only just left with the empty supper plates and could well be lurking in the corridor. “I meant what is it doing in my chambers?”

“It’s for Merlin,” she said, as though Arthur was being especially slow. “You wanted something, well here it is. Or here she is, I should say.” Morgana reached in and lifted out the most pathetic ball of fur Arthur had ever seen. The cat, and really it was more a kitten than a cat, immediately dropped down, lashed its short tail, and stalked off to the furthest corner of the table it could reach, the better to glare at Arthur from eyes that shined suspiciously yellow in the candlelight. “She’s called Melisande.” Morgana continued, bestowing an approving look on the bedraggled little fur ball who appeared about as thrilled about this whole arrangement as Arthur.

“I don’t care what she’s called,” Arthur said crossly. “she can’t stay here. What if she has fleas?” He had seen enough cats in his lifetime, sleek, well-fed mousers who prowled the castle corridors, but this one looked distinctly underfed, dirty and yes, quite possibly flearidden. Not to mention that for all the cats Arthur had seen, he had never actually had to have one in his chambers and had no idea what he was supposed to do with the thing.

“Well that’s simple enough,” said Morgana crisply. “I’ll just tell Branwen that the cat she gifted to the great and powerful Emrys has been rejected by his pompous ass of a King in case it makes him itch, shall I? Then again, if Merlin wasn’t living in the castle, I suppose that wouldn’t be a problem anymore. I’ll be sure to mention that as well.” 

“I didn’t— That is not—” Arthur stuttered himself to a stop. “Wait, you told Branwen?” 

Morgana gave an exasperated sigh. “Of course I told Branwen. Do you think familiars are easily found?”

“What?” Arthur managed weakly. He turned to look at the cat, which promptly began scratching behind its ear. Arthur knew he was right about the fleas.

“Did you never wonder about Branwen’s falcon?” Morgana said, in an insufferably superior tone. “It’s quite usual for sorcerers to have animals or birds you know.”

“Why couldn’t Merlin have a falcon?” Arthur asked. That wouldn’t be so bad, many of his knights kept hunting birds after all.

“The sorcerer does not choose the familiar,” Morgana intoned, still in that irritating tone. “Their paths are pre-destined.”

“Are you sure? Because I think Merlin would prefer a bird.” Arthur would certainly prefer one. 

“I think Merlin would prefer a King who wasn’t an idiot, but tragically life does not always bend to our whims.” Morgana picked up her basket. “Now if you’re quite finished disparaging his way of life, I have things to be doing – like sleeping.”

“You can’t just leave me here with it!” 

“Goodnight, Arthur.” Morgana directed what he thought was a particularly evil smile at him and made for the door, ruffling Melisande’s fur on the way past the table and prompting the small cat to bristle in indignation.

The door closed behind her with a firm click.

Arthur eyed Melisande the cat. Melisande the cat eyed him back, her fur sticking out ridiculously. 

“You needn’t think you can scare me,” Arthur informed her, trying to sound firm (because it was all about tone with these creatures). “And you can get down from my table, I eat off that.”

Melisande meowed loudly.

“I mean it,” said Arthur. “Get down!” He waved a hand at her, though not too close in case she was some sort of evil feral Druid cat.

Melisande watched his attempts with an air embarrassingly reminiscent of Morgana herself, then slowly padded across to the edge of the table and leapt down, making sure to land right on top of Arthur’s hunting tunic which admittedly should not have been on the floor in the first place. There followed the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing as she took the time to stretch her claws, but before Arthur could do more than look outraged she was running for the door to Merlin’s room, clambering onto his narrow bed and flopping down in the middle of his mess of blankets.

“You can’t go in there!”

Melisande rolled onto her back and regarded Arthur upside down.

“You can’t!”

Melisande yawned. Arthur began to wonder if this was a particularly stupid possibly magical cat.

“Fine,” he snapped. He marched over and yanked the door shut. “Stay in there then, see if I care.” Another meow was his only reply (not that Arthur cared). 

He snatched up his hunting tunic from the floor, frowning at the long pulls in the fabric. Clearly this was going to be just as successful as the new chamber, except instead of offending Merlin’s Druid sensibilities he had just condemned himself to a ruined wardrobe and a lifetime of fleas. “You had better be good at keeping out the mice,” he said out loud, in the general direction of the closed door. Melisande made no reply, excepting only a prolonged rustling noise that Arthur had the horrible feeling was more scratching. He was going to kill Morgana. 

 

It took Merlin another half mark of the candle to return, by which point Arthur had located an old arrow chest and a sheet that had seen better days but would certainly be suitable for a cat’s bed. He tried folding it a few times, before giving up and just tearing it into strips. He didn’t know why he was doing this anyway. It was supposed to be Merlin’s cat and he still wasn’t entirely convinced this wasn’t some big, elaborate joke by Morgana to make him look stupid and convince Merlin to leave him forever. He was giving the last bit of a sheet a particularly hard tug when Merlin walked in, carrying a pile of freshly laundered shirts.

“Oooh, are we climbing out of the window again?” he asked, sounding worryingly enthusiastic about the idea as he dropped the shirts on the table and came to peer over Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur hastily dumped the last strip into the box and shoved it away. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. This is—” He stopped and cleared his throat, determined to do this more successfully than the previous day. “Actually I have something for you.”

Now Merlin looked wary. “Is it another tower?”

“No, it is not a tower! And I wasn’t giving you a whole tower anyway,” Arthur said, because he felt it needed to be pointed out. He grabbed one of the braces of candles nearby. “I know you want to live like a Druid—” Merlin’s ears went pink, which Arthur decided to take as a good sign. “And I want to, er, encourage that.”

“You do?” Merlin sounded worried.

“Of course I do,” Arthur said firmly, because he did, in a staying-in-the-castle sort of a way. “So in honour of that...” He pushed open Merlin’s door. “I—”

“You’ve ruined my pillows!” 

At Merlin’s betrayed tones, Arthur’s head snapped round. “What? I didn’t—”

Except someone really had ruined them. Someone, Arthur suspected, who was small, fluffy and evil. Every single one of Merlin’s precious pillows had been split open, along with parts of the hay-stuffed mattress on which he slept. Feathers and bits of hay drifted in the air and there, right at the centre of the chaos, lay Melisande the cat, who, on spying Merlin, immediately spat out the feather she was chewing and began to purr instead.

“Oh my god!” said Merlin, after a further shocked moment. “Someone let a cat in!”

There were times, Arthur thought, when ‘surprise!’ just wasn’t appropriate.

It took some minutes to convince Merlin that the damage really was entirely accidental and not some attempt to destroy all of Merlin’s remaining worldly possessions. Then he was obliged to offer replacements, if only to stop Merlin clutching the sagging remains of his impromptu pillow collection to his chest like he might be about to weep all over them. Normally this would be grounds for at least an hour of mockery, but Arthur supposed that sleeping on a floor and then a straw stuffed pallet for most of your life would give you a lasting appreciation of pillows that was difficult for him to understand.

The cat was a bit harder to explain, however.

“You got me a cat?” Merlin said for the third time in as many minutes. 

“Apparently,” Arthur replied. He didn’t bother to add that it was a destructive demon of a cat; he thought that went pretty much unsaid at this point. He should have known something like this would happen. The last time he accepted a gift from Morgana, it had given him a rash.

“But I thought you didn’t like cats.”

“I don’t dislike cats,” Arthur said (however much he was starting to rethink his position on one cat in particular). “And anyway this isn’t a kitchen cat, it’s some sort of...” Arthur tried to remember Morgana’s explanation, “Druid cat. Apparently it’s a common Druid...thing.” Morgana’s explanation had sounded a lot more convincing. “She’s called Melisande.”

As if in reaction to her name, Melisande rolled over and began batting at a stray feather with her paws. In a turn of events that would surprise precisely no-one, Merlin appeared to instantly forget the drama of the last few minutes in the face of what Arthur thought was quite blatant emotional manipulation. He looked at Arthur, then at the cat, then back at Arthur, his tentative grin bringing out his dimples in a way that should not be as irresistible as it was. “Like Branwen’s falcon,” he said.

“Yes, like that,” Arthur said, relieved to have something more solid to agree with. 

Merlin hesitated a moment longer, then held out a hand to the cat still playing in the ruins of his bedding. Melisande rolled back onto her front and crept forward a few paces, belly low to the ground and ears flicking back and forth as she sniffed the outstretched hand. Then seemingly satisfied that this was the same person she’d been purring at earlier, she suddenly darted up his arm and onto his shoulder, digging her claws firmly into his coat and purring so loudly her whole body seemed to vibrate with the force of it.

“I don’t think she’s trained,” Arthur pointed out, attempting to inject a modicum of sense into the proceedings, gift or no.

Merlin reached up to scratch behind the small cat’s ears with a ridiculously soppy expression on his face. “Training is very over-rated.”

Arthur snorted. “Well you would know.”

There was a perilous moment then, as Merlin grinned at him, wide and unrepentant, and Arthur was forced to think of horrible things like Geoffrey in the bath-house to stop himself reaching across the narrow space that separated them to trace the skin beneath Merlin’s jaw, darkened now with the hint of stubble and the shadows cast by the candlelight. Even Melisande’s endless purring seemed to have dropped in volume, a background hum drowned out by the quickened thud of Arthur’s pulse. 

It took the sudden guttering of the candle flame for Arthur to remember himself and step back, clearing his throat and hoping he wasn’t flushing too obviously. It seemed even Geoffrey in a state of undress wasn’t enough to stop the other images crowding into his head at that moment.

“Well, that’s that settled then,” he said, his voice only the tiniest bit wobbly.

Merlin was looking at him oddly, almost nervously and it took him a second to respond. “Uh... Yes. I suppose so.” He swallowed, then added in a rush. “Thank you. For doing this for me I mean.”

Arthur nodded, on safer ground now. “You’re my Court Sorcerer Merlin, it’s the least I could do.” Let Aelfgar dispute that if he dared.

“Right,” said Merlin, then smiled faintly, just a small quirk of his lips, when Melisande butted her head against his jaw, mewing plaintively.

A slightly awkward silence followed, as Merlin carried on looking at him in that strange, almost sad way and Arthur wondered if this was the right time to make a speech about his appreciation of all things magical, although quite honestly the proximity of Merlin was making it hard to think. 

Fortunately for them both, Merlin spoke first. “So I’ll just...” he made a vague gesture towards his room, “I’d better go to bed. Long day tomorrow.” 

“Oh yes, of course,” Arthur nodded and felt somewhat relieved Merlin wasn’t insisting on helping him undress for bed like he usually did. Speaking of which... “I’m, er, sorry about your bed.”

On Merlin’s shoulder, Melisande stopped licking his neckerchief and sat up straight, looking inordinately pleased with herself.

Merlin looked at the state of his room and grimaced. “Never mind, it’s still useable, just about. If I just— Ow!”

The ow was a result of the demon cat choosing that very moment to scramble painfully down Merlin’s body, race through the open bedroom door with her tail high like a banner and ascend the bed once more, where she proceeded to arch her back like a miniature wildcat, hissing and spitting all the while.

“What the hell?” Arthur stared at Melisande, who seemed to arch even higher.

“Ow,” Merlin said again, clutching his shoulder. He frowned very firmly at Melisande. “Bad cat!”

Melisande instantly stopped hissing and rolled over, looking pathetic. Arthur could almost see Merlin’s resolve crumbling into nothing. “Well all right, just don’t, uh, do that again.” With a little nod, Merlin moved forward again and immediately Melisande was back on her feet, hissing even louder than before.

Merlin stopped, clearly baffled. “Do you think she’s frightened?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the cat who was now dragging up the loosened threads of the sheets with her claws for good measure. Somehow he knew this was all Morgana’s fault. 

“Maybe she thinks we’re angry about the bed?” Merlin added, trying to approach the bed again, but backing off when Melisande’s tail began whipping from side to side.

“I am angry about the bed,” Arthur said crossly.

Merlin threw him a reproachful look, then turned back to the bed. “It’s all right Melisande, he doesn’t mean it.”

“Actually I do,” said Arthur, and got his foot trodden on for his trouble. “Ow!”

“Well are you going to help or not?”

Arthur made a face but dutifully waded in, because he was apparently incapable of refusing Merlin anything, and the cat was sort of a gift from him in the first place. Two minutes later he gave up with the bottom of his shirt missing.

“Bloody hell Merlin, can’t you just,” he wiggled his fingers, “do something.”

“I hope you are not suggesting I ensorcel my cat,” Merlin said, folding his arms. He raised an eyebrow as if in challenge. “Why don’t you just fetch Morgana?”

“I am not fetching Morgana in the middle of the night because you cannot control a magical cat.” 

Merlin ignored that last part, turning back to Melisande who had taken the opportunity to rest from her constant melodramatics and chew another feather. The moment she saw Merlin watching however she was back on her feet. “I think you must have scared her, you know. What did you do to her before I got here?”

“I didn’t do anything to her! She went in your room and I, stupidly, left her in there.”

“There you are then, she must think that’s her bed now. She’s confused.”

“She is not confused, she’s deranged.”

Merlin yanked his bedroom door shut with a bang and fixed Arthur with a reproving glare. “Don’t say things like that, she can hear you!”

Arthur resisted the urge to bang his head repeatedly against the nearest wall. “Well what do you suggest we do, then, o great sorcerer?”

Merlin bit his lip (not that Arthur was looking). He opened the door a crack and a hiss came faintly from within. He closed it again and frowned unhappily. “I’ll just... I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s only for tonight and tomorrow I’ll find Branwen—” Arthur must have made a face because Merlin quickly amended it to, “or someone, and find out what to do.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You can’t sleep on the floor because a cat has stolen your bed.” 

“I’ll be perfectly fine, not all of us grew up sleeping on feather beds you know.”

This was one of those moments, Arthur realised, where the solution was staring him in the face if only he was brave enough to take it. Rather like the time Merlin had needed someone to rub ointment into his back and Arthur just happened to be passing.

He took a deep breath and affected the most casual and nonchalant of tones. “You may as well just share my bed. There’s no point you shivering by the hearth when I have plenty of room.” There, he thought virtuously: an ideal solution and in Merlin’s best interests.

Merlin stared at him, “What?” 

He needn’t sound so shocked, Arthur thought irritably; they had lain out their bedrolls next to each other plenty of times on the hunt. It was hardly something new to have Merlin warm and close beside him, tucked under the same blankets and curled— He paused, and rearranged his thoughts back to the matter at hand, which was Merlin being ridiculous. “It’s only for tonight,” he said. “You’ll have your own bed back by tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” said Merlin, not sounding particularly thrilled about it.

“That’s that then,” said Arthur, waiting for Merlin to at least look relieved (he didn’t). He dithered a bit longer before fetching his night shirt, wondering if the prolonged silence was Merlin’s way of conveying his horror at spending the whole night in the same bed as Arthur. It was a depressing thought. “You don’t have to,” he said at last, feeling rather hurt as he yanked off his shirt and threw it in the general direction of the wardrobe. His breeches followed.

“Uh...” Arthur turned to look at Merlin, who was looking a little flushed.

Arthur frowned as he pulled on his nightshirt. “It was only an idea.” An idea he tended to have on a nightly basis, although Merlin didn’t need to know that.

Merlin seemed to shake himself, his eyes fixed somewhere around Arthur’s left shoulder. “No, that’s fine. I think it’s a good idea.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“No, I want to sleep with you.”

There was a short silence, during which Arthur’s brain couldn’t seem to decide which inappropriate thought to go with first. “Rather than the floor, I mean,” Merlin blurted. “And better than getting scratched to death. Definitely better than that. And all the feathers.”

Arthur willed his treacherous heart into some sort of normal rhythm. “Good. That’s good then.” Then because he was probably seconds away from saying something highly embarrassing and possibly never being able to look Merlin in the face again, he climbed into his bed, pulling the covers half way up his chest even though it was the middle of June.

“You’d better check on your cat,” he added, when he realised Merlin was just standing there, watching him like an idiot.

“Right,” said Merlin. He pushed open the door once again without even looking and a rather tired hissing came out. “Yes she’s definitely still upset,” he said, closing it. “Can I borrow a night shirt?”

Arthur grunted his acquiescence, turning on his side and pulling the blankets up even higher so he wouldn’t be tempted to do something awful, like stare when Merlin was undressing. It felt like only seconds later when the mattress dipped and Merlin was clambering in, kneeing Arthur twice before he managed to settle himself. Arthur rolled over and frowned at the two clear feet of space between them and then at the tense line of Merlin’s shoulders, barely visible in the moonlight.

“You can move over you know, I’m not going attack you.”

There was a pause, then Merlin shifted carefully closer, until Arthur could feel his warmth all down his right side. 

“Better?” Merlin whispered into the darkness.

Arthur allowed himself the smallest of movements, just enough that his hand curled loosely by his side brushed Merlin’s (if Merlin asked, he was only getting comfortable and it was his bed, after all). “Better,” he said. Then in case that sounded at all soppy, he added, “But if you kick me you’re sleeping in the courtyard.”

The night that followed was not exactly restful. Between fending off Merlin’s apologies every time their toes so much as brushed and lying awkwardly on his side so that no other part of himself brushed Merlin, Arthur had barely managed five minutes of dozing before exhaustion won out in the early hours and he finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. 

Given these difficult circumstances, he was hardly surprised to drift back to wakefulness to a dead arm, a wet patch on his elbow and a quiet and persistent purring. He tried to move his arm, only to be met with an unhappy murmur. Confused, he cracked open one eye, then the other, trying to get his bearings, before realising, with a jolt of warmth that pooled in the pit of his stomach, that he was looking at the back of Merlin’s head and that it was in fact Merlin who was giving him a dead arm. Unfortunately that meant it was probably Merlin’s drool he could feel on his elbow, but he tried to stick to the positives for now. 

It was still early. The light that filtered through the windows was barely golden, though strong enough to promise sunshine later and another hot day. From where he lay, barely inches between them, Arthur could see the errant strands of Merlin’s dark hair that curled against his nape and trace the smooth skin below, falling into shadow as it disappeared beneath the loose collar of his night shirt, offering him a tantalising hint of muscle shifting. He was so close that it would be nothing at all to press his lips there and taste Merlin’s skin, sleep flushed and warm as it was. 

He swallowed, feeling suddenly reckless and light in his skin. “Merlin,” he said softly, tensing his arm.

There was a great deal of muttering as Merlin woke, twisting on Arthur’s arm as he rolled onto his back, sleepily confused and blinking, and inexplicably mumbling, “I put your tunic in the wardrobe.”

Arthur looked down at him, at the pillow marks on his cheek and the way his hair stood up and thought that if there was ever a moment when he felt brave enough to just ask Merlin to stay, it was probably now.

So naturally that was when Melisande dropped the dead mouse on his head.

 

“I’m sure she meant well,” Merlin said, when they were finally eating breakfast, the mouse having been suitably disposed of (much to Melisande’s disgust). “I think she was saying sorry for last night.” He reached across to scratch Melisande’s ears as she helped herself to a sliver of ham from the tray, apparently recovered from whatever bizarre mood she had been in the night before.

Arthur pulled the tray away. “I hardly think a dead rodent is suitable recompense for destroying your room. And you can stop that,” he added as Melisande tried to creep after the ham. She sat back on her haunches and watched him eat instead. It was fairly off-putting.

“I wonder how she got out of the room,” Merlin was saying thoughtfully, breaking off a piece of cheese for the feline terror. “I thought I closed the door.”

Arthur had his own thoughts about that, and they started with ‘Druid cat’ and ended with Morgana and Branwen plotting against him and his every attempt to woo his stupid court sorcerer. “It probably has magical powers,” he said, grumpily.

Merlin gave him an exasperated look, but it was softer than usual. “She’s just a cat, Arthur.”

Arthur eyed Melisande who was staring fixedly at the ham on his knife. “If you say so.” 

“Anyway you’re always complaining about mice in the castle so you should be pleased.”

Arthur went to make a snappy retort, but was headed off at the pass by the sight of Merlin licking butter off his fingers, brow creased in concentration. Arthur shifted uncomfortably and stuffed some more ham into his mouth before he could say something idiotic and humiliate himself forever. He was still feeling flustered from earlier, hot and far too conscious of Merlin sitting next to him at the table, their knees nearly touching, and Merlin’s tongue was not really helping.

“I don’t...” He tried to remember what they were talking about. Melisande filching his grapes reminded him. “That’s hardly the point, Merlin,” he said firmly. “There’s a world of difference between wanting a vermin free castle and being happy to pick dead rodent out of your hair first thing in the morning.”

Merlin dimpled at him. “I think she must like you.”

And that, Arthur thought, was just unfair. Because how was he supposed to keep to his plan and remember his duty to the kingdom with Merlin sharing his food and licking his fingers and smiling at him with his stupid bed hair (and from Arthur’s bed, no less). 

“Then she can show it by being obedient,” he said, removing the grapes from Melisande’s reach entirely.

Merlin took the opportunity to steal the last bit of cheese from Arthur’s plate. “I’ve heard it doesn’t always work that way.”

Arthur tried to feel indignant, he really did, but it hard to feel anything beyond the warmth unfurling in his chest. Sitting here with Merlin, tired but content, it was all too easy to forget the existence of tall and too-handsome druids, evil cats and the possibility of Merlin ever leaving. Indeed, Arthur had finished breakfast, dressed and made it half way down the corridor before he realised they hadn’t even talked about the need to find a new bed.

Arthur’s cautious good mood lasted all the way through training, despite Gwaine’s look of disgust when Arthur just happened to mention what a nice morning it was. It lasted through Merlin appearing at his usual spot with a waterskin and an offer to ‘hold Arthur’s shirt’ when he cooled off at the end of the morning, although Merlin looked a bit glazed and didn’t have a lot to say (the lack of sleep was doubtless catching up with him). It even lasted through lunch with Morgana and her pointed remarks about the maids complaining of broken beds and ripped pillows, and really it was none of her business “what sort of night” Arthur had had. If she was waiting to hear how her horrible scheme worked, well Arthur was not going to give her the satisfaction.

It lasted in fact until the moment Arthur pushed open the door to Gaius’s chambers, Branwen in tow, and found Aelfgar with his hands on the shoulders of a very shirtless Merlin, gazing into his eyes with the kind of single-minded focus Arthur could only get away with when he was drunk, or that one time Merlin had had something in his eye.

Considering he had spent the past two days imagining similar scenarios, Arthur was shocked – in a vague, distant sort of way – that this could feel as terrible as it did. It was like seeing a nightmare come true, or like coming back from a hunting trip to discover Morgana had taken over the kingdom (which was much the same thing), except a hundred times worse because this was Merlin and he was Arthur’s, even if Arthur had never actually gotten round to telling him so.

There was a buzzing in his ears as Aelfgar’s thumb moved back and forth over the skin that edged Merlin’s collarbone and it was entirely possible that the strange strangled sound he heard was actually from himself. Possibly. Although if anyone asked, it sounded more like Branwen.

In any case it had the effect of breaking the strange tableau before him as Aelfgar blinked and stepped back, dropping his hands, and Merlin finally caught sight of Arthur hovering in the doorway like he’d been turned to stone and beamed at him in a way that was completely inappropriate given he was enjoying shirtless moments with another man.

“Arthur! I didn’t know you were finished in the hall. Were you looking for Gaius?” Somewhere behind him, Melisande woke up and meowed a greeting (the traitor).

“Was I—“ It seemed there was something even worse than finding out your court sorcerer was in love with a criminally handsome druid and destined to leave you forever, and that was him not even noticing you were irrationally upset about the fact. In fact no one seemed to have noticed Arthur was upset about the fact, if the way Branwen was cheerfully unloading her supplies on Gaius’s workbench was any indication. “It doesn’t matter what I was doing, what the hell are you doing?”

Merlin looked confused. “Aelfgar was just helping me with a new spell.”

”Shirtless?” Arthur hadn’t realised his voice could still go that high.

Merlin looked down at himself, apparently surprised to discover he had lost his shirt somewhere along the way. No doubt Aelfgar was just that distracting. “Oh...” He blushed, and started looking round for it, eventually discovering it tossed over a chair at the other end of the table.

“It was skin to skin magic,” Aelfgar said, as if pleased by Arthur’s interest, “It is through coming together in such a way that our magics meet and combine to—”

“Are you all right, Arthur?” Merlin interrupted, looking concerned. “You look a bit pale.”

“Am I...” It seemed clear that whatever morally questionable ‘skin magic’ Merlin and Aelfgar had been performing, shirtless, it had temporarily rendered Arthur incapable of speaking in whole sentences.

“Emrys has shown himself to be particularly adept at this sort of magic,” Branwen put in approvingly, “as we all knew he would be.”

“Though this is but a practice for his coming to the forest of course,” said Aelfgar and to Arthur’s horror he actually winked at him, as though Arthur was in on the whole ‘sorcerer stealing’ joke.

He most certainly was not, and what was more he had had enough of it. He didn’t know who the hell Aelfgar thought he was, but it certainly wasn’t him that had put up with Merlin for years, had shared his breakfast with him, pretended not to notice his sorcery (despite all the evidence to the contrary), defended him to his father and done almost everything Merlin had asked of him for the simple reason that Merlin had asked it. He had given him a cat for god’s sake, and he was damned if he was going to just let Merlin decamp to a tent with a handsome druid for ‘skin magic,’ or whatever they were calling it these days, without at least putting up a fight.

“Now look here,” he began, remembering too late that sentences that began with “now look here” rarely ended well, “I don’t care if Merlin is your mythical saviour, and I don’t care that you’ve charmed everyone in the castle except Geoffrey, Merlin is mine—” Merlin drew in a sudden breath and Arthur realised he might have gotten a bit carried away. “Er, my court sorcerer, and as his King I forbid him to go and live in the woods.”

Aelfgar and Branwen were looking pretty taken aback, which just went to show Arthur was not to be underestimated, while Merlin had just settled for staring at him, wide eyed. “Arthur, what—”

“No Merlin,” Arthur held up a hand. “I’ve put up with the comments about your wages, and your sleeping arrangements, and that thing about intertwined paths – which wasn’t at all subtle by the way – but if you think I’m going to stand by and let you just leave me... I mean the, uh, kingdom,, to cavort with druids, then, well, you’re wrong.” As speeches went, it was not his best and the ending was weak to say the least, but Merlin always seemed to have this effect on him so Arthur raised his chin and hoped his face was not as red as it felt.

“But I don’t want to cavort with Druids,” Merlin said, after a rather shocked silence. 

“Indeed, the rituals do not require Emrys to join with any of us,” Aelfgar added helpfully. “It is only with the Once and Future King that he must experience full union before the high altar.”

There was a pause, during which Arthur was only vaguely aware of Merlin making frantic ‘no, no, no’ gestures beside him.

“I beg your pardon?” he said politely, when he could remember how to speak. 

Aelfgar looked confused. “It is the sacred rites. Only you may join with Emrys, and through your joining replenish the earth.”

It was possible Arthur had been missing some highly pertinent bits of information, but quite frankly he would get to the 'renewing the earth' part in a moment, “Wait, does this mean you’re not in love with Merlin?”

Aelfgar looked scandalised. “I assure you my feelings for Emrys are of the purest and most—”

“But I’ve been wooing him!” said Arthur, more loudly than was probably necessary for an audience of three people and a cat, two of which were now regarding him with astonishment while the third was opening and closing his mouth like a landed fish (Melisande had just gone back to sleep in a sunny patch on the table). “For the Good of the Kingdom,” Arthur added feebly and far too late to be convincing. In his defence, this had all been rather a shock.

“Emrys assured us you knew of all the arrangements,” Aelfgar said.

Arthur waited for Merlin to correct this obvious misunderstanding, but he was still busy gaping.

“Would you excuse us?” Arthur said firmly, and proceeded to seize Merlin’s arm and drag him bodily from the workshop, up the rickety stairs and into the room that used to be his, but was now only occupied by a truckle bed for Gaius’s patients, two chairs and an excessive amount of wild garlic. 

“I have your jasmine oil,” Branwen called after them. 

Arthur slammed the door shut.

There was a short silence. 

“There are arrangements?” Arthur managed at last.

“What? No!” said Merlin at once. “Yes. Well, maybe. They were going to say something to you! I couldn’t let them do that so I had to say that you... that you knew. I thought I could find some way out of it later. I didn’t think—”

“That’s what all the... smiling and the comments and the bloody skin magic has been about?”

“A bit. But the skin magic stuff was mostly for Melisande’s scratches. Arthur, you said—”

“So you’re not leaving,” Arthur said, because he had to be sure and because Aelfgar’s designs might not be as nefarious as he first thought, but that didn’t mean Merlin didn’t still want to abandon all his worldly possessions and commune with the earth far away from Arthur.

“Of course not! I can’t even hunt.” Merlin sounded exasperated, but it barely registered next to Arthur’s overwhelming relief. “Arthur, you—”

“Oh my god,” Apparently discovering his fears were unfounded had allowed Arthur’s brain to finally catch up with the rest of the conversation. “They think we’re going to... to... In public.” Arthur couldn’t even say the words. Obviously they weren’t going to perform some sort of carnal ritual. Obviously. Not unless Merlin wanted to, which he didn’t of course. Even if he wasn’t running off to have Druid orgies anymore. God, he should probably sit down. Thankfully there was a chair nearby. “What’s wrong with quests?” because really, what was wrong with a good ritual quest?

“Arthur!” Merlin shouted, frustrated. 

Arthur blinked up at him, his brain still somewhat stuck on the words ‘carnal’ and ‘Merlin,’ but fortunately Merlin seemed happy to dither for a few seconds to give Arthur time to recover, his face flushed and his fingers catching nervously at the worn hem of his shirt. “Did you...” Merlin swallowed, his voice wobbling slightly. “Did you mean what you said about me being yours? And about... wooing me?”

Bugger. Arthur had forgotten that bit.

“Well I... That is, you don’t have to— I would never let my personal feelings for you detract from your position as—”

“You’re such an idiot,” Merlin interrupted and before Arthur even had time to be indignant he was climbing into his lap, pressing him against the chair back and kissing him desperately. 

For a too-long moment, Arthur was frozen in shock because Merlin was in his lap, his body a warm weight against his chest, one hand curled around his nape and the other clutching his shirt, and Arthur had never thought this could actually happen outside of those uncomfortable dreams he pretended he didn’t have. Of course dream Merlin had never muttered “stupid” repeatedly in between kisses, or bumped noses, or accidentally pulled his hair, but Arthur found he couldn’t mind that too much because it meant this was real and it was these small imperfections that finally made him kiss back, pushing up to meet Merlin’s eager mouth and wrapping an arm securely around his waist, hand sliding beneath his shirt to brush against the smooth skin of his back.

It was almost too good to be true. It was better than he had imagined. It was... “Wait...” Arthur pulled back, gasping for breath. “This isn’t because of the ritual is it? Because— OW!”

Apparently even this new, more affectionate Merlin wasn’t averse to smacking him over the head when he felt it was necessary (not that it ever was, in Arthur’s opinion). 

“I was just checking,” Arthur said.

“Well don’t,” said Merlin, shifting on his lap in an entirely distracting way. “I was stuck with them for three weeks. Three weeks of them going on about the stupid ritual and our bodily union and bloody oils. I didn’t think I would ever sleep again. And all that time you...”

Arthur had a brief moment to wonder if he needed to duck, but Merlin only pushed forward to kiss him again instead, pressing their mouths together over and over until it melded into one long kiss. Arthur felt like he was on fire, heat pooling in his stomach and prickling in his skin where it touched Merlin’s, Arthur’s arms tightening around him to pull him closer. The chair creaked loudly under their combined weight and it was that which reminded Arthur of another unwelcome fact.

“No, stop, we can’t. They might hear us. What if Gaius comes back?”

Merlin dropped his head to Arthur’s shoulder and groaned, but honestly, someone had to think of these things and it clearly wasn’t going to be Merlin. 

Then Merlin snorted into his collarbone, his shoulders shaking slightly. “You should probably get used to it, if we’re going to be replenishing the Earth at the Solstice.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” said Arthur. “We will just have to speak to them about that and sort something out.”

“But Branwen made you some oil,” Merlin added, and he was definitely laughing now, Arthur could feel it.

“Maybe it’s symbolic,” said Arthur, in a last ditch attempt at sanity.

“I don’t think those diagrams were symbolic.”

“Oh god,” said Arthur and let his head fall back with a thunk. “Why can’t magic people be normal?”

“You were the one who got me a magical cat and tried to woo me with a tower.”

“It wasn’t the whole tower,” Arthur pointed out again.

“If you say so,” Merlin said, turning his head so he fit more snugly against Arthur’s neck.

For a moment there was silence, but for the sound of their breathing gradually falling into a steady rhythm.

“Does this mean we can give the cat back?”

There was a loud and disgruntled meow audible even through the door.

“That’s a no,” said Merlin, equably.

“Just checking.”

The End.


End file.
